


Fry me Kangaroo brown, sport

by sapphire_child



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: then_theres_us, F/M, Flying, Gen, Love, Pete's World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2019-01-22 22:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12492084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: A reunion fic, of sorts.





	Fry me Kangaroo brown, sport

_Against the glass I heaved a sigh_  
_Followed the fading of its lines_  
_Watched the plane begin its flight_  
_With my eyes into the night_  
Stephen Speaks – Airplane Song

 

It’s been an exhausting few days, punctuated with terse phone calls home at odd hours and sneaky physical therapy sessions. It’s all catching up to her now though, and Rose gladly swallows down a handful of anti-inflammatory tablets with the lukewarm dregs of the bitter, airport cafe tea.

She doesn’t need to be curled up in a plane for the next twenty odd hours with aching muscles that will only stiffen further in the air conditioning. She’ll only come off the plane limping and her mum will grump at her for working herself too hard. And then Rose will defend herself, saying that this lot had wanted an expert in fieldwork and that’s what they’d gotten.

She can’t do things by half measures after all. Not when she is petite and blonde and _female_ and has the wistful remains of a South London accent. There are too many blokes in her line of work who would refuse her the respect she needs to get her job done right. Never mind the fact that there are a rather large contingency of alien hunters here who are bigger cowboys than some of the American yahoos she’s had the pleasure of running workshops for.

Yobbos aside though, Australia is gorgeous and sunny in a way that London never will be, whether in this universe or the next. Never mind that she didn’t make it to Bondi or the Gold Coast or Cottesloe – sunny splendour or no Rose doesn’t think she’ll ever be truly comfortable on a beach ever again. The people though, they’ve been very friendly. She’s gone out for disconcertingly cold beers, been forcibly introduced to Vegemite and found it surprisingly good (hell, she’s eaten worse) and even ended up with an Akubra to take home with her.

Working, being around people doesn’t exactly dull the loneliness, distils it a little maybe and makes it a little more bearable. But then she asked to go alone didn’t she? She’s the one who has been telling them over the phone that she’s enjoyed the peace and quiet of being in a city where nobody really knows her.

Back home (if you can even call it that) she is somewhat of a celebrity. Here she’s just another pommy bird come over to show the Republic what for and how England are still doing it better.

It’s nice, for once, to be alone for a little while. Though she never thought she’d say it after everything she’s...well.

_Flight 295 to Canberra now boarding from gate nine..._

There’s other things too, other reasons she’s grown to like this wild, civilised place. For one, the runways at the airport are all crowded with planes – Zeppelins having never really caught on somehow. She supposes it has something to do with the vast expanses they have to cover to get anywhere. Zeppelins, although they’re generally more comfortable, are rather a lot slower than planes. Fine if you’re content just flitting about Europe, but a completely different ballgame when spanning a continent that has the capacity to fit the equivalent of thirty odd Great Britain’s inside it.

As Rose watches the last golden wash of sunlight dim over the airport she absently nurses a particularly colourful bruise on her elbow that she keeps on forgetting and allows herself a moment of nostalgia for her real home.

Planes always reminded her of travelling in the TARDIS, that exquisite pressure that sometimes built up inside the console room, strange walls of force buffeting you even when the flight was relatively steady. It was so reminiscent of the thrill of gravity pressing you back into your seat as you took off in a plane and she always looks forward to her rare, mainly intercontinental plane rides.

_Flight 614 to London now boarding from gate..._

She tosses the soggy dregs of her paper cup into the trash as she lugs her carryon to the departure gate. She’s business as usual on the company’s dime, and she’s certainly not complaining if it means she gets to spread out a little.

Not that business class can really be compared to...

She abruptly stops that train of thought and slumps down into the seat to wait. She has a window and the sun is going down in earnest now, the dying glare of it golden bright and gorgeous. She tilts her face towards the window with her eyes shut for a long moment before turning her attention languidly back to her surroundings. The seat beside her is empty and with any luck it will stay that way so she can spread out.

The stewardesses are just going through and closing the overhead compartments and preparing for their life jacket show and tell when there is a scuffle down near the door. Interest immediately piqued, Rose leans out into the aisle in case there’s some trouble she can get herself involved in.

She isn’t expecting to hear his voice – certainly not calling desperately out for her. Nor is she expecting to be confronted with the sight of him being dragged _off_ the plane and away from her. He’s kicking about and carrying on and he’s _there_ it’s him.

Her heart stops for one moment and then she’s struggling to her feet...or rather trying to for a futile moment before realising that she’s got her belt fastened. She nearly tears her nails loose on one hand as she rips at the buckle and then she’s scrambling down the aisle and into his arms, knocking aside at least three people in her haste.

“ _Doctor_.” She breathes into his neck, clinging clinging _clinging_ to him. Pulling back she takes in the mad hair, the dishevelled suit and crooked nose. “Wh-?”

“Rose,” he returns, just as breathless as he presses his nose into her hairline. “I _missed_ you.”

“I called last night,” she reminds him, hands working frantically over his lapels, clinging to them. “I thought you were meant to be picking me up from the airport?”

He is still breathless against her cheek, huffing and breathing and breathing her in. His arms keep on readjusting against her back as if he’s trying to figure out the most optimal position for hugging. “I may have...run out of patience.”

The idea is almost laughable. But then, when has the Doctor been anything other than spontaneous?

“Did you seriously fly all the way out here just so you could fly back home with me?”

He looks almost embarrassed. “Well...” he begins and she silences him with a pleased, perfunctory kiss that leaves him grinning.

“S’alright,” she tells the baffled crew members as she takes his hand. “He’s my plus one.”

They ignore the safety demonstration entirely (honestly, after the TARDIS, a bit of good old fashioned turbulence is about as scary as getting attacked by butterflies – although there was that one time on Flurian with the gigantic carnivorous ones...) and curl up around each other like a pair of cats.

“So,” he begins, her cheek propped on his shoulder and his arms draped around her. “Be honest. How was it?”

She shrugs, but then brightens. “I got an Akubra!”

“As a present?” at her nod he pulls back and his smile is dazzling despite the obvious circles beneath his eyes. She is touched that a twenty four odd hour stopover from London through Singapore (normally enough to make her cranky as a toddler) still can’t dampen how pleased he is to be with her. “Oh, but that’s brilliant!” he enthuses. “Does it have crocodile teeth on it? We could come back and go on Safari! Or is it a Wanderfar...? Oh-oh-oh! _Walkabout_!”

He says it so loudly that the bloke across the way shoots them a glare and is so grumpy in the way he readjusts the volume on his headphones that they both fall into fits of giggles.

As always, the trip is infinitely better with two. They arrive at Heathrow wearing their blankets as capes and Jackie, to her credit, doesn’t even ask any questions.

“Mad,” she shakes her head. “The pair of you. Be all over the tabloids tomorrow you will.”

Hand in hand with the Doctor, though she’s exhausted and aching beyond belief, Rose can’t bring herself to care.

  

  
_Turn over everything time can heal us again_  
_I'm tender in your arms_  
_Reaching inside of me bringing the love I need_  
_The loneliness has gone_

Feeder – Tender


End file.
